Dwayne Johnson Grapples With Glory and Collapse In 'The Smashing Machine'

HOLLYWOOD, CA — In Benny Safdie’s “The Smashing Machine,” victory comes at a punishing cost. This isn’t just a fight for dominance — it’s a battle for identity, survival and the razor-thin line between glory and collapse. What follows is a portrait of ruin, rendered with visceral intimacy.

Silence opens the film — stifling, heavy. Dim light. Scattered pill bottles. The camera pans and lingers, not just on a man, but on a moment caught between pain and memory.

At the heart of the narrative is the true story of MMA legend Mark Kerr (Dwyane Johnson), whose meteoric rise in 1997 sets the stage for a fall as unforgiving as any knockout — a descent into addiction, volatility and emotional wreckage.

And it all begins with Kerr’s MMA debut — raw, explosive, unforgettable. A commentator shouts, “A magnificent knee to the face!” as Kerr unleashes pure adrenaline — fists flying, eyes locked, every strike unrelenting. For three years, Kerr remains undefeated.

But the real fight unfolds outside the cage, where his life begins to fracture. Woven into this unraveling is Dawn Staples (Emily Blunt) — girlfriend, confidante, reluctant witness. Their bond is codependent — forged in love, frayed by addiction. He numbs; she enables. They orbit each other, locked in a vicious cycle of fight-or-flight. This emotional entanglement becomes the film’s beating heart.

In perhaps his most emotionally layered role to date, Johnson — aided by facial prosthetics and custom hairpieces — sheds his action-star persona for a performance steeped in vulnerability. Gone is the hero of “Fast & Furious” or “Jumanji.” As Kerr, he’s worn down by pressure, addiction and emotional strain. He’s not “Rocky.” He’s closer to “The Wrestler” — a man clinging to the last thread of identity.

Blunt matches Johnson’s intensity with quiet resolve, inhabiting a space where love curdles into addiction. Her portrayal of a woman caught in the throes of chaos feels authentic and unflinching — a far cry from the razor-sharp wit she wielded in “The Devil Wears Prada.”

What was once breezy for Johnson and Blunt in “Jungle Cruise” turns bruised and intimate in “The Smashing Machine.” Their chemistry shifts from playful to painful, channeling a connection that feels deeply human. It's a dynamic that anchors the film's emotional core.

Safdie’s direction heightens that tension in every frame. Known for “Good Time” and “Uncut Gems” — which he co-directed with his brother Josh — he brings that same intensity to his solo feature, but filtered through a tighter, more personal lens. The jittery pacing, immersive framing and relentless close-ups that defined their earlier work remain, but now they’re repurposed to track Kerr’s internal unraveling rather than complete mayhem.

Visually, the film bruises — deep, discolored, slow to heal. Maceo Bishop’s cinematography traces Kerr’s downward trajectory in color: the cold ache of blue, the sickly pallor of yellow and the sudden violence of red. Handheld shots, dim lighting and tight framing mirror his unraveling psyche and the couple’s fraught relationship.

That visual language bleeds into the fight scenes, where Bishop captures the tension of bloodsport with suffocating close-ups and grainy immediacy, pulling viewers into the raw intensity of each blow.

Adding texture to Kerr’s breakdown is the supporting cast, with real-life fighters like Ryan Bader (as Mark Coleman) and Bas Rutten (as himself) lending authenticity. Their presence grounds the film in the unforgiving, insular world of combat sports.

And yet for all its emotional power, “The Smashing Machine” occasionally stumbles — especially in the repetition of Kerr’s spiral and the film’s unrelenting bleakness. His deterioration is harrowing, but its recurrence risks numbing the impact. Safdie’s commitment to emotional truth is clear, though the film sometimes veers into overwrought anguish, flirting with fatigue.

Though credible, the supporting cast remains underexplored. A few more scenes from their perspectives — especially those orbiting Kerr — could have added depth to the film’s emotional terrain and eased the weight carried by Johnson and Blunt.

Still, the film’s core holds. Its rawness, devastation, and refusal to offer redemption resonate. “The Smashing Machine” is a compelling sports drama — not about triumph, but about ruin, anchored by Johnson’s most emotionally charged performance to date and Blunt’s quietly devastating resilience.

Smashing is easy. Surviving the wreckage isn’t — especially when hope begins to crumble. And when victory becomes obsession, power doesn’t just blind — it bruises.